


Justice in Unity: The Howling Dark

by Charlie Paul (Hitamn), Noëlle McHenry (Quasi_Detective)



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alternate Canon, Angst and Drama, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Anxiety, Bisexual Female Character, Cats, Collaboration, Crimes & Criminals, Dark Past, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Death Threats, Detectives, Drama & Romance, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Father Figures, First Meetings, Flashbacks, France (Country), Friendship, Implied Relationships, Language of Flowers, Love at First Sight, Memories, Mother-Daughter Relationship, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Partnership, Past Character Death, Past Relationship(s), Past Violence, Platonic Female/Male Relationships, Police, Questioning, References to Depression, Shyness, Social Anxiety, Spoilers, Tags Contain Spoilers, Teamwork, Unresolved Emotional Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-07
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:21:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23056159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hitamn/pseuds/Charlie%20Paul, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quasi_Detective/pseuds/No%C3%ABlle%20McHenry
Summary: After a string of stressful cases and the hospitalization of his partner, Det. Elliot Mortensen is nearing the end of his rope, and Maci Leblonne worries what may become of the man who helped her become the experienced officer she is today. Though she's eager to help, he refuses her time and time again. It feels like she can do nothing but watch as Elliot slips deeper into bitter depression as the days go on.Then suddenly, Commissioner Bellamy approaches them with a case and temporary partnership—a case that leads Elliot to meet novelist Jolene Perrault. Unbeknownst to either of them, their fleeting acquaintanceship will blossom into a desperate passion for one another, as they unwittingly become each other's anchors to sanity.WARNING:Contains spoilers forJustice in Unity: Redux.
Relationships: Elliot Mortensen/Jolene Perrault, Original Female Character/Original Male Character, Simon Callahan/Elaine Bellerose





	1. Left in the Dark

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Justice in Unity: Redux](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/565228) by Noëlle McHenry. 



> _“I had learned early to assume something dark and lethal hidden at the heart of anything I loved. When I couldn’t find it, I responded, bewildered and wary, in the only way I knew how: by planting it there myself.” — Tana French_
> 
> Cover: tbe
> 
> **WARNING: This story contains loads of spoilers for _[Justice in Unity: Redux](https://quasi-detective.itch.io/justice-in-unity-redux)_ and features explicit smut in later scenes.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posted on March 7th, 2020.  
>  **Updated on January 17th, 2021.**

The sound of church bells ringing outside, signaling 12 o’clock, made Elliot shudder. He hated that sound. Every time he heard it, he felt like he was being drawn back in time, to a moment alone in his hometown of Ambérieu-en-Bugey . . . That thing . . . its face . . .  
Nervous, he found himself glancing around his office, half-expecting to see it looming in a corner, staring at him with its eyeless visage. Instead, all he noticed out of the ordinary was the desk beside him—belonging to Det. Miles Quinlan—its chair empty.  
For a split second, he wondered where the kid was. Then, he gave himself a mental kick. After all, it was his fault that Quinlan was currently hospitalized. That stupid rookie had taken a bullet for him, all because he’d been too much of a coward to shoot the bastard who had been tormenting him for years: Mattieu Delacroix—Malachy.  
With a low sigh, Elliot picked up the lit cigarette resting in one of the grooves of his ashtray and took a long drag. His brown eyes fell onto the paperwork on his desk, half-completed. He still did his reports by hand, a gesture that his boss, Supt. Bellamy, seemed to appreciate, but it sure as hell took a lot of time.

* * *

The pitter-patter of the rain on the window of Bellamy’s car comforted Maci like a mother’s embrace, a feeling she needed plenty of after the cases she had endured. The sound of church bells extinguished the comfort it brought her, however, as they slowly made their way to the entrance of the police station. Though a comfort to the masses, it had become a beacon of sorrow for many—herself included—due to recent events.  
After they parked out front and got out of the car, she opened the door for her superior as they made their way into the precinct. Then, she greeted the officer at the front desk, as was her routine.  
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him: Det. Elliot Mortensen, wrapped up in his work as always.  
In a purposeful stride, she made her way toward him in her police uniform, proud to display her progress to her role model and mentor. It was something she couldn’t do before, since so much had come up in the last few weeks, as well as the last few cases. Showing off her uniform never crossed her mind until now.  
“Hey,” she uttered in her light, French-accented voice, trying not to disturb Elliot too much from his concentration. “I hope I’m not interrupting something important.”  
She continued with her upbeat attitude, hoping to cheer up one of the only people she could still call a friend these days.  
However, Elliot gave Maci nary a peripheral glance before he looked back down at the photo copier he stood in front of. Even down here in the main lobby, he kept on his torn cinnamon-colored balmacaan coat, repaired by himself by replacing the missing portions of it with pieces from a much darker coat.  
“Hey,” he replied back, his lower voice rather rough—he lacked a French accent despite his origin being the same as hers, albeit a different town. What accent he did have, Maci wasn’t sure how to describe other than with the words “close to American”.  
His aloofness came as no surprise. Especially when focused, Elliot had shown a tendency to be anti-social, but that didn’t necessarily mean he wasn’t listening.  
“I’m just copying some things before I head back up.”  
By “up”, he was referring to his office, on the third floor. Being the superintendent’s daughter, Maci had been lucky enough to get an office of her own as well. The disappointment came from the fact that it was on the second floor—below both Elliot’s and her mother’s.  
Maci took her time reading his body language, something both Lt. Simon Callahan, a good friend of Elliot’s, and Bellamy herself had encouraged her to pay attention to. Though Elliot said little, his posture and movements spoke volumes. What happened to Miles still weighed heavy on the jaded detective, more than anyone else.  
“How does the new uniform look on me?” she inquired at last, as she pivoted to show everything off, including her short, puffy red hair. She was desperate to get Elliot’s mind off of everything; it was only right to do, as he had done it for her while she was growing into the woman she was now. She could even say that he had become a father figure to her, more of one than her own biological father, which made his hurt resonate with her even more.  
His dark brown eyes did look her over, but only for a moment, as they then returned to the papers coming out of the copier.  
“You look good, Leblonne,” he answered, albeit sounding a bit vacant, before he rephrased his response: “You look mature. That uniform suits you.”  
The machine in front of him grew silent, and with that, he gathered the papers it spat out. After also collecting the paper inside the copier, he tapped them all against the surface of it to even their edges out without another word.  
He almost seemed more reserved than normal. What wasn’t so clear was whether he was simply caught up in his work, or had something weighing on his mind.  
With how much he kept to himself, Elliot could at times be frustratingly enigmatic, and now was no exception. Maci could only wonder if he had _anyone_ to open up to: he was a widower, his current work partner was in the hospital, she already knew he rarely spoke to Bellamy outside of work, and though he was close with Simon, she could only assume he kept him as far in the dark as everyone else.  
Either way, their conversation was proving to be a fruitless venture so far. Every subject Maci thought of, she knew wouldn’t be enough to crack his stubborn, silent demeanor. She gave him a bittersweet smile, unable to keep up her typical optimism in the face of her hurting mentor. In a desperate effort, she began to work on the last talking point she could think of, one that could make him uncomfortable, but would at least warrant conversation.  
“So, has Bellamy given you any new cases yet? After all that paperwork, I mean,” she stammered, as even she was unsure of how Elliot would feel about taking another case now. Worst case scenario, it would serve to remind him of his own perceived failures having to do with Det. Quinlan, ones that few at the precinct agreed with.  
For a beat, Elliot was as quiet and still as a statue. Yet, after a few seconds, he seemed to recover, adjusting the papers in his hands until their edges were perfectly even.  
“No, not yet,” came his answer in a low voice. “To be honest, I’m not sure whether a new case can’t come soon enough, or if I won’t be able to handle another so soon after . . .” He trailed off during this admission, unable to even bring up Quinlan. At the very least, it was a start; at least he was saying something of substance.  
“What happened to Quinlan wasn’t your fault, Elliot. That _connard_ Malachy did that to Miles, and you stopped him from hurting anybody else,” Maci blurted in a moment of confidence and determination, now that she finally had him saying something.  
But then, she began to give her emotional statements another thought: there was a chance that this would only shut him down from talking to anybody, even her. It was already out there, though, too late for her to take it back. She could only wait to see if he would raise his walls again, or finally lower them.  
He gave her a look, one that at first she wasn’t sure how to describe, but soon realized was a window into his vulnerability. It was plain to see that, as much as he appreciated the sentiment, they would have to agree to disagree.  
However, as fast as he gave the look, he tore his gaze away with a small scoff, then turned his back on her.  
“I have to get back to work,” he murmured, an attempt to escape from a vulnerable situation.  
When he began to walk away, Maci wasn’t sure what to make of it, other than her feelings of dissatisfaction. Elliot hardly had time to reach the elevator, though, before Bellamy appeared beside her, almost startling her.  
“Detective!” the woman called out with her rough, aged voice—like her daughter’s, it possessed a rather thick French accent.  
At her low bellow, Elliot froze in his tracks and appeared to sigh, as if inconvenienced.  
“Madame Bellamy.” His greeting was terse, turning only a little bit to look at her, while not bothering to move any closer to them.  
“I’m sorry, Madame,” Maci stumbled.  
It still felt too awkward for her to refer to her mother in any other way than she would a typical superior. After all, it was only recently that she even found out they were related at all. Until then, she’d been told by her father that her mother was dead. It went without saying that, even now, she still found herself surprised by the realization that she was now working under the order of her “dead” mother.  
“I was about to go to your office, but I wanted to say hello to Elliot first . . .” she finished, shaking herself from her stupor.  
She was quick to realize that Bellamy wasn’t here for that, however. The elderly woman hadn’t even diverted her gaze from the dismissive enigma known as Elliot Mortensen.  
His deep brown eyes were like an abyss, one too dark for Maci to see if there was anything left. However, Bellamy stared straight into that abyss, as if she understood it.  
“Oh, my apologies, Madame Bellamy. You’re here for Elliot, right?”  
Bellamy nodded at her, though her dark violet eyes—a strange yet captivating color—never met hers. The female superintendent, boss of most officers in the precinct, was nothing short of intimidating. Sometimes, Maci wondered if she intimidated even Elliot.  
Yet, on rare occasion, usually when no one else was around, she’d come to see that the older lady had a much softer, almost nurturing side. She had to wonder: did anyone but her ever get to see that part of her mother, or was Bellamy always stoic around others?  
“I have a case for you, Detective,” Bellamy croaked at last.  
Elliot took a shaky breath, staring hard at the old woman. She was only 12 years older than him, yet he looked so much younger than her, despite the hard lines on his face. He’d look younger still if he shaved, but there was hardly a chance of that. If anything, his stubble was thicker now than it had ever been.  
“It’s about time,” he replied to her after a moment’s pause, though his voice lacked enthusiasm.  
“Come to my office, both of you. We can talk about it there.”  
Elliot’s brown eyes widened. “Wait. Leblonne too?”  
“Yes.” Not about to listen to him complain, Bellamy walked past him, cold as ice, then pressed the elevator call button.  
Maci approached the two and stood next to them in mutual silence as they waited for the elevator doors to open.  
_Both of us?_ she thought, unsure of what that entailed. Maybe she wanted to talk to them one after the other, but it could also mean that she wanted the two of them on a case _together_.  
Thoughts of the latter seemed fantastic: she romanticized those same thoughts when she was younger—sometimes even to this day, as a young woman.  
As the elevator doors opened and they walked inside, her train of thought continued even further. Without knowing it, Elliot had formed her into the officer and the woman she was now—in fact, it was only because of him that she’d joined the force at all.  
Under normal circumstances, she would have jumped at the chance of a case with him, but this wasn’t that same Elliot. Now she found herself staring at him from behind, worried if this ordeal would change him forever from the figure she once knew.  
Then, a ding from the elevator informed them that they had reached the third floor. Even a sound as soft as that was enough to pull her from her turmoil, which made her appreciate it more.  
Bellamy exited first, making her way with silent haste past the double sets of vending machines beside the elevator doors. Elliot and Maci followed suit, making the same sharp left turn as her.  
The rest of the hall was relatively unadorned but for labels beside doors. As they passed, Maci noticed Elliot glance at the pair of metallic plates beside the door to his own office—at the lower one engraved with the words “ _Inspecteur Miles Quinlan_ ”. The sight made him distant, and his somber eyes slunk away without comment.  
This walk by their office made even Maci feel uncomfortable. She didn’t need to see Miles’ desk to know there was only emptiness in the seat he should be in, as well as the absence of the small dog bed that used to reside near it.  
Even if he was only in the hospital, and not dead, it hurt to not see him here anymore. She was only able to imagine what Elliot must’ve felt as his eyes glanced the labels that still showed the both of their names.  
The superintendent led them to the door at the end of the hall, its relative single label reading “ _Commissaire Tanya Bellamy_ ”. Now that she thought about it, Maci realized she’d never actually heard anyone call her by rank. As long as she’d been there, the woman was always “ _Madame_ ”.  
It was a little strange in hindsight, but Bellamy had yet to correct anyone, so she had to assume she was right to call her something so casual.  
“Madame, may I ask . . . what this is about?” Maci asked, for good reason. It was far from a common occurrence for both her and Elliot to be in Bellamy’s office at the same time. It was even more of a rarity that Bellamy had asked for them herself, rather than letting them fetch each other for her. She hadn’t even told Maci during the car ride there that she wanted to talk to either of them.  
Tanya didn’t answer straight away, first opening the door and stepping into her office. Not much had changed about it since Maci first saw it a few years ago: the small rectangular white and pink carpet in front of the door, the dark oak desk with an almost-matching chair on either side, the tall plants on either side of the doorway . . . It was all familiar to her now.  
The only thing that seemed to change—and regularly, at that—were the books in the holder on the edge of Bellamy’s desk. Given her aloof nature, Maci found it enigmatic that most of said novels were either romance stories or pure, unadulterated smut. If anyone else ever noticed, they’d never pointed it out, as far as she knew, so she also held her tongue.  
“Close the door behind you,” Bellamy instructed, turning to face them upon only making it to the front of her desk, which she then leaned back against with her arms crossed over her hot pink blouse. Usually she talked to Maci while sitting down, but from what she knew now, it appeared that was an exception.  
Without even batting an eyelash, Elliot, having entered after Maci as some small sign of respect (or reluctance to face Bellamy, she couldn’t tell), grabbed the doorknob and pulled the door shut. As she expected, he didn’t seem to mind standing, though she suspected he would prefer to sit if the offer arose. Standing with a slouch and a crook in one knee, he still towered over both women as he crossed his arms over his chest as well.  
“What does me having a case have to do with Leblonne?” he demanded.  
The old woman ignored his question, instead answering: “A local novelist named Jolene Perrault called in this morning. She fears for her life, as she’s received a death threat in the mail. So, she wants protection, and for someone to find out who sent the threat.”  
Somewhat aggressive, Elliot barked, “I’m a homicide detective, Bellamy. This kind of thing is more up Simon’s alley.”  
Unfazed, Bellamy closed her eyes, lifting a hand to brush a strand of her gray-ish lavender-colored hair—probably dyed, Maci figured—out of her face. The bun she wore it in on the top of her head was a mess, as it tended to be, as if she didn’t put any care in doing her hair up like this. This theory was further backed up by how the entire front portion of her hair wasn’t brought into the equation at all, with it parted in the middle and hanging over either side of her face like bright curtains.  
“Well, Lieutenant Callahan is busy with another case at the moment,” she pointed out. “Besides, I feel it's best to give you and Maci something to take your mind off of recent events.”  
Elliot’s visage warped into one of stunned contempt, and for a beat it seemed he was about to lash out. Wisely, though, he chose to hold his tongue.  
It almost intimidated Maci, seeing how tense he became when the idea of a case with her came up; she felt insulted. Therefore, she looked downward to avoid the gaze of her two higher-ups, hiding the discomfort written across her face.  
She didn't say it, but she had heard of the novelist in question, Jolene Perrault, before. In fact, she was even an avid reader of a few of her stories, as bleak and melodramatic as they could be.  
She couldn’t think of why someone would threaten her life, since her books had great reviews for the most part. Though some complained about her frequent use of bitter endings, that still wasn't reason enough for a death threat.  
When she looked back to Elliot, she recalled that he—or had it been Simon?—partook on a case some years back at the local theater that Perrault had performed at for a short time. During the author's time as a performer at the shadow opera, Maci hadn't been all too aware of her, but she knew of it in hindsight.  
There was a chance, then, that this case could be exactly what Elliot needed to bounce back.  
“Mademoiselle Perrault? I think I’ve heard of her before . . . She was somebody from one of your old cases, right, Elliot?” She glanced back at Mortensen, his face still warped in disdain. It softened ever so slightly as he glanced at her, though he only did so out of the corner of his eye—it was her good (?) fortune to be standing to his right, where he didn’t have to turn his head to see her, as his long bangs swept mostly to his left.  
“I can’t say I’m familiar,” he responded, voice flat.  
“I believe Lieutenant Callahan saw one of her performances at the _Théâtre Lyrique d’Ombre_ back in February of 2009,” Bellamy enlightened him herself.  
“Ah, then it’s a shame that he doesn’t get to come back for that case’s sequel.” The sardonicism in Elliot’s voice was as sharp as a knife. “Mademoiselle Bellerose, was it? Simon told me a bit about that case. Wasn’t she in a similar situation?”  
“Yes, something like that.”  
Elliot scoffed and shook his head, now not looking at either of them as he mumbled, “This new case would be rather open and shut if Matthias Duval wasn’t fucking _dead_.”  
His use of profanity made Bellamy furrow her brows in annoyance, though she didn’t challenge him. Knowing him, both women knew he didn’t mean any offense by it; he used it most often as a common adjective, to emphasize his point.  
Maci knew who he spoke of, but only because she’d heard about it on the news. The costume designer from the theater where both Bellerose and Perrault performed: a man by the name of Matthias Duval. He had stalked Bellerose for a month, maybe more. To punctuate it, he also sent her creepy “love” letters, which grew more and more violent.  
It was Simon who Bellamy had assigned to that case, it appeared. In the end—on Valentine’s Day, no less—he’d shot Duval down in order to protect Elaine from him, as by that point, the costume designer was completely unstable, and had threatened to kill the woman himself.  
“Well, to be honest, I’m actually a fan of Mademoiselle Perrault’s work. I hope that won’t prevent me from carrying out my police work,” Maci finally confessed, unsure whether her bias toward Jolene would make her unfit for the case. “But Elliot, this does sound like a smaller and simpler case than normal. Isn’t that what you were hoping for?” She continued to remind him of their previous conversation. After all, she was quite determined to help Elliot out, even if he didn’t want it.  
The blond detective sighed and rolled his eyes. It was obvious that there was something he wanted to say, but he must’ve deemed it too offensive, as he again bit his tongue.  
“Mademoiselle Perrault lives in the apartment complex on _Rue Magneval_ ,” Bellamy began to say, dismissing Maci’s remark. “You two should—”  
“You’re fucking me,” Elliot's counter was abrupt—now he seemed borderline livid. “You don’t really mean to send me back there right now, do you? After everything that’s happened?”  
Maci found herself speechless, caught between a rock and a hard place as an officer and as Elliot’s friend. It might have been too rash to think that bringing him along would be a good idea, after all. Going back to the apartment building that Quinlan lived in might make it even worse on him, she realized.  
“Madame . . . I could go alone if it’s too much for Elliot. That should be okay, right?” she pleaded, hoping to appeal to her stoic mother.  
“I’m only sending you to make sure it _isn’t_ too much for him,” the old woman revealed. “If he can’t handle it, I’ll have to assign it to someone else, though I don’t know who.”  
Elliot took a deep breath—it sounded more like a growl, though—to compose himself. It almost felt like his last remnant of pride was at stake, as he then snarled, “Fine, I’ll take the damn case . . . but I’m not pleased about it.”


	2. Anemone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posted on January 17th, 2020.

Before they knew it, they were in Elliot’s car, making their way to _Rue Magneval_. Though Elliot said nary a word, Maci could tell he was more than upset, and it would only get worse the closer they got.  
“Elliot . . . You can just drop me off there, and I’ll tell Bellamy that you spent the day with us. I don’t want to force you to stay somewhere that makes you feel uncomfortable,” she insisted, in the gentle voice she always used to give him and Simon when they would visit her at her former workplace: the Peaches & Cream Café. Although it wasn’t a perfect time, it was certainly a much simpler time than this.  
The detective didn’t answer her, nor even acknowledge that she’d spoken. He only kept his eyes on the road, his face a solid glare out at the road before them.  
While Elliot was often enigmatic, one thing she had come to learn about him was how stubborn he was. No doubt he was now running on spite, wanting nothing more than to get this over with. If she wasn’t careful, she assumed she’d watch him start going out of his way to cause himself emotional distress. That way, he could tell Bellamy “I told you so”, or something along those lines.  
Still, despite the intimidating air of Elliot’s cold and vindictive silence, the interior of the car hadn’t changed a bit since Maci had last been in it. It brought back memories almost as mixed as her previous thought: the night of the prom at her school. She’d managed to talk Elliot into coming along, though in retrospect she knew damn well he didn’t want to go. There had been a naive hope in her then that she could get closer to him, despite knowing they would be dancing in a room of people much younger than him. A room where her good friend Nathalie Poirier had died—but no matter the reason, he didn’t give her a skerrick of attention at all that night.  
Then Denis Traverse fell from the rafters—rather, someone pushed him. She remembered how Elliot refused to take her along to chase after the suspect. How, after changing his mind, they found Zacharie Lavoie in the library, with a gun. His words, how afraid he sounded as he spoke of someone who killed Nathalie . . . and then the bang when he shot himself in the head, mid-sentence, in what appeared to be some freak accident.  
Elliot had found her outside not too long afterward, where she’d gone to cry. He told her he thought Zacharie was only imagining this other suspect. Yet, even now, she wasn’t sure what to believe.  
Regardless, what mattered now was how Elliot made an effort to comfort her then. She still remembered the surreal feeling of his hand on her shoulder, how he’d whispered, “It’s okay,” and then accepted her sobbing embrace in silence.  
Trying to pull herself from her reminiscence, Maci attempted to change the subject; the case seemed to be the best alternative.  
“I mean, if you _do_ stay, I’m sure you and Mademoiselle Perrault will get along—I mean, I hope. You’d probably even enjoy her last novel: _Ani-mo-nay_? _Anemone_? Yeah, that’s it. Same sort of worldview and such . . .  
“It mentions that anemones are a type of flower, but what that flower means seems a little beyond me. You know a little bit about flowers; what do _you_ think?” she inquired, aware of Elliot’s keen knowledge of flora. She already knew its pronunciation and meaning, both explained in Perrault’s book, but she knew he couldn’t resist talking about flowers when prompted.  
“Anemone?” he replied, a bit vacant. He glanced up at the rear-view mirror, possibly at her, though she couldn’t be sure.  
Though he sounded meek, he then answered, “It’s generally considered a symbol of undying love, but also a love that’s been long forgotten. Though, it also symbolizes anticipation about what the future holds, I think. The meaning’s a little mixed: I guess it depends on the context.”  
His grip on the steering wheel, which up ‘til now had been tight enough to whiten his knuckles, lightened.  
“A bit of a strange flower to name a book after, in my opinion, but if the shoe fits . . .”  
This time, he did glance at her, though only out of the corner of his eye.  
“I didn’t know you knew that I know a bit about the language of flowers. What tipped you off?”  
Maci smirked. “I picked up on a few things you mentioned when I worked at the Peaches & Cream, then when we went flower shopping for my office when I first joined the force . . . I put two and two together when I caught you staring at those rare bleeding hearts that they had in stock,” she revealed with a dimpled smile, pleased with herself for finally being able to show Elliot that someone cared about him and his interests.  
“Anyway, I suppose that alternate meaning you mentioned would make sense in the context of the book,” she continued. “Though maybe you and Mademoiselle Perrault can enthuse about flowers and their language together. You might even have a good time.”  
Without even saying anything, Elliot seemed to ease up from her comments. The subtle change in his body language relieved Maci, giving her hope that he would find a way out of the slump he found himself in. It was a long time since he had many friends outside of her, Simon, and the now-wounded Miles, as far as she knew—if he ever _had_ any other friends than them but for his late wife.  
So, she figured, with any luck, this case could have some hidden benefits for her mentor.

* * *

Soon enough, Elliot parked the car beside a beige, two-story tall building with a red tiled roof. Above the door and the building number, Maci could make out small text reading “ _Appartements du Magneval_ ”.  
Most of the windows on the front of the building were unlit or covered by curtains. However, the row of labeled buzzers made it clear that someone would have to buzz them in. Maci could only hope that Mlle. Perrault had stayed home and waited for them, as the officer who took the call would have advised her . . .  
Again without a word, Elliot unfastened his seatbelt and opened the door on his side, stepping out of the car before slamming it back shut. As unchivalrous as ever, though he meant no offense by it, he didn’t bother to open Maci’s door for her, instead making a beeline for the buzzers with his long legs.  
Maci still smiled as she exited the car and followed suit, making her way to the row of buzzers as well. At the very least, Elliot waited for her by them, allowing her to use them herself. So, she skimmed the list of names to find Mlle. Perrault’s, before clicking on the intercom button labeled accordingly.  
“Mademoiselle Perrault?” She spoke in a polite tone into the speaker, much more graceful than she would’ve expected Elliot to be. “It’s Officer Leblonne and Detective Mortensen. Would you mind buzzing us in, please?”  
There came no reply, though after a few seconds, they heard the buzz of the door, unlocking and permitting them to enter.  
With only an indifferent shrug, Elliot took a step toward it. He didn’t make it far, though, before the young girl beside him took hold of his arm and stopped him in his tracks.  
“Mind letting me take the lead on this?” she asked. “I haven’t got much in the way of actual work at the station recently, so I wanna get some practice in, you know?”  
She did mean that, but she also knew it would be in their best interest for someone like her to meet Perrault first. It would make her more at ease for another woman would be with her during this time, she reasoned.  
As mean and insensitive as it could sound to Elliot, who would by no means go out of his way to hurt clients, she’d found over time that he did tend to be rather unsympathetic and abrasive toward women. Therefore, it felt to her like the right course of action to keep him as quiet as possible.  
Though she knew he wasn’t used to playing second fiddle, Elliot wasn’t too standoffish on the matter. In fact, his initial response was only yet another indifferent shrug, before he then replied,  
“Fine. I’m curious to see what'll happen if we go about this in a different way, anyway. Lead the way.”  
“Thanks, Elliot . . . So, it said her apartment number would be 201.” With that said, Maci made her way inside and across the lobby area to one of the doors that she figured would lead to the stairs. There was no elevator, she noticed, but gave it no thought.  
While Elliot did follow her, he took a moment first to contemplate something, she realized, though she decided not to inquire. Sometimes he did appear to be in his own world, after all, and never before had he elucidated her nor anyone (as far as she knew) about what he saw there.  
As she made her way up to the second floor, she felt the floorboards creaking underneath her on each stair. The jeering sound only got worse when she stepped onto the landing at the top. No doubt, this sound would be chilling to hear during late nights, she thought.  
Elliot tagged along, still close behind her. Once they exited the stairwell into the second floor's short hallway, he tapped the side of her shoulder with the back of his hand and gestured to the stark white door to their left.  
“That one’s 201,” he murmured, showing he was at least accustomed to the layout of the building from his prior visits to Miles. Sure enough, there was a small nameplate beside the door that read “201 - J Perrault”.  
Maci approached and took a moment before giving the surface of the door a gentle knock. Then, she called out in a firm yet friendly tone: “Mademoiselle Perrault? It’s us, Leblonne and Mortensen. Would you kindly—”  
Before she had the chance to finish her sentence, the door cracked open an inch to reveal little else but darkness, at least from what they could see. It was rather eerie, and Maci had to wonder if she had been the one to push it open with her soft raps against it.  
Then, a small gray tabby cat peeked its head out to greet them, staring. Not angry, not excited. Just . . . staring. As Maci smiled at it, however, she was quick to realize that the cat’s gaze was focused not on her, but instead on Elliot, as it craned its head up to examine him like it might keep an eye on a colorful bird.  
After a moment more, the door creaked open more to reveal a demure figure: Jolene Perrault, a rather gorgeous young woman, even though she looked exhausted. Like a deer in the headlights, she looked to the two officers, leaving Elliot in her gaze a few moments longer than she did Maci, much like her cat. At last, she turned on the lights in her apartment and opened the door the rest of the way.  
From what they could see, the main room was untidy, but not unattractive. It was actually a charming and appealing room, Maci thought, aside from the piles of drafts and journals that must have accumulated over a good amount of time. It seemed lived-in and homely to most, but Leblonne could tell Perrault felt embarrassed, what with her awkward fidgeting in the doorway.  
“I’m sorry,” she apologized, in almost a whisper. Her voice was soft and light, with a somewhat heavy French accent, though it was a bit more mature-sounding than Maci’s. “It’s not usually this messy. Please, come in.”  
The timid woman then gestured Maci in, where her cat proceeded to follow. She still gazed at Elliot, who now returned it and seemed lost in thought, or even _taken aback_ by Perrault.  
Appearing rather vacant again, the man nudged Maci further inside, following after her. The cat scurried back away from them, ducking against a door leading into a small, unlit bathroom. Yet, it continue to stare up at them, as if mystified by the presence of strangers.  
Elliot’s brown eyes skimmed over the woman before them—her ombré hair of both brown and blond pulled up into a messy bun, her sad-looking emerald green eyes, the puffy grey sweatshirt with sleeves rolled up to her elbows that matched with her sleek black jeans and clean white socks—before turning down onto the curious gray animal. A tabby American Shorthair, its big hazel eyes gazed at him in suspicious tension.  
“Cute cat,” was the first thing he said to Jolene, as if to break the ice—if not for her, then for himself. “What’s its name?”  
Jolene remained fixated on him, almost left speechless by his presence.  
“Chestnut,” she answered, voice soft, before showing a subtle and tight bashful smile. A moment of silence stagnated any words between them, until Jolene pushed out a compliment of her own, as hard as it seemed for her.  
“Nice . . . coat . . .” the ombré-haired author crooned, still wearing a sheepish grin from his indirect compliment.  
“Thanks . . .” Elliot mumbled back. He sounded surprised, no doubt because he was: his patched-up coat usually earned odd looks. Stitched together by Elliot himself from two separate coats, not unlike Frankenstein’s monster, the coat was an undeniable eye-catcher, to say the least. Though, even Maci wondered about how professional it made him look . . .  
As if coming out from a trance, Perrault diverted her gaze, as painful as it seemed it was for her to look away. She took her time in closing the door behind him before they all made their way into the living room, with her sneaking small glances at the detective in doing so, not unnoticed by Maci.  
After looking around the rest of the apartment, making note of the doorway into the small kitchen they’d passed and the closed door to their right (likely to the bedroom), Elliot cleared his throat and looked down at Leblonne—the shortest of the three of them. He then gestured her, with only tilt of the head, to take the lead and begin the discussion about the case, as she had requested.  
Though she didn’t know what to make of how Elliot and Mlle. Perrault were now acting all of a sudden, Maci still had a job to do. So, trying to go easy on the older woman, she sat down with her on the dark couch, then inquired,  
“So, Mademoiselle Perrault. You recently received a death threat in the mail, correct?”  
Jolene nodded, brisk and nervous. “Yes. It’s over there, on my desk.”  
She used her own head to gesture back to a wooden table across the room, which also held a computer and a printer.  
“I haven’t touched it at all since. That should help with fingerprints or something, right?”  
At only the mention of the letter, Leblonne noticed how much more tense and snappy Jolene became. Interpreting this at her own discretion, she replied,  
“It’s possible, yes. Would you mind grabbing it, Mortensen?” She then looked over to Elliot, knowing he had more courage and experience when it came to stuff like this.  
With nary a nod of his own, the tall blond detective moved deeper into the living room, approaching the desk in the far corner. Atop the computer’s keyboard was a folded piece of powder blue paper.  
Using a small cloth pulled from his coat pocket, he picked it up like a delicate flower petal, careful not to contaminate it with his own fingerprints. Then, he unfolded the page with his knuckles, eyes skimming its front. As a fast-reader, Leblonne knew he would finish digesting it in only a matter of seconds.  
“Listen . . .” she began, attempting to comfort Jolene in the meantime. “You’ll be safe as long as you’re with us. You can relax while we’re here.”  
Yet, it seemed like the woman was looking elsewhere—focused on something else. Her gaunt expression made it clear how unnerved she was, but when Maci turned to see what she was looking at, she found nothing. Perhaps, the young officer reasoned, she was only lost in her thoughts like Elliot often was, or disheartened by what _could_ happen rather than what _had_ happened.  
Glancing up, Elliot did a double take upon seeing her vacant gaze, looking in the same direction. When he too saw nothing, he looked back at Jolene and made a cautious approach, while placing the letter into the inner pocket of his coat with care.  
“Hey,” he said in a somewhat-soft voice, trying to pull her from her unpleasant distraction by changing the subject—as if he somehow understood her anxiety. “Tell me, when exactly did you receive the letter?” With tact, he also avoided using the words “death threat” again. Overall, his compassion came was a light surprise to Maci, though she was by no means about to complain about it.  
Jolene returned her gaze back to Elliot, though it continued to be a warm and friendly one despite her clear anxiety.  
“I got it a couple days ago, though I may have received it even earlier than that . . . I don’t check my mail very often,” she answered, with a tinge of shame in her voice.  
The last few years must have been dreadfully lonely for the young author, making the appearance of something as terrifying as a death threat unexpected, to say the least.  
Well aware of the unspoken sentiment, Elliot nodded a bit.  
“Yeah, I guess I understand that . . . Not a problem. I’ll have forensics run it for prints when I head back to the station, and we’ll see if they can’t pin this bastard’s identity down.”  
Then, he glanced at Maci again, arching one of his thick brows to urge her without words to either proceed with her questioning or allow him to take charge. He seemed to have regained some degree of confidence, perhaps out of a sudden intrigue in the case. Maci could only wonder what he’d read on that letter, or had it been the pitiful look on Jolene’s face that spurred his interest?  
With a nod of her own, Maci allowed Elliot to take control of the situation. She was without a doubt surprised by the unexpected sensitivity Elliot was showing. She didn’t understand why the two got on so well all of a sudden, but this was the best outcome for everyone. Elliot seemed more focused and sociable, Jolene eased up around him, and Maci herself wasn’t as jealous as she might have been years ago.  
“Mademoiselle Perrault,” the man started, standing a little taller and beginning to sound more serious, “do you have any idea who could’ve sent the letter? Do you have any enemies, or anyone you commonly receive fan-mail from who has perhaps stopped contacting you regularly?”  
“I don’t know who could have sent it . . . I made a few enemies when I retired from performing, most of which had always insulted me directly . . . but nothing like this—not this extreme,” answered Jolene.  
Elliot digested this information regardless, then nodded. “I see. And I take it this is the first time you’ve ever received a threat like this?”  
“. . . Anonymously, yes.”  
There seemed to be more to that statement, but discomfort became apparent in both her body language and voice, and she didn’t elaborate.  
Noticing this, he didn’t entertain the subject much longer; shifting the focus a little, he inquired,  
“What about this one in particular made you call the police, then?” Though, having skimmed the letter, he already had a pretty good idea why: its gruesome, visual wording sent a shiver down even his spine—it even vowed to mutilate her cat first.  
“Well . . . rather than finding it in my P.O. box, it was delivered directly to my apartment mailbox. There was no envelope it came in, either, so I felt like I had to read it, rather than throw it away like some junk mail. After I did, I put it on my desk and haven’t touched it since.”  
She looked to both of the detectives, checking if either of them had a negative reaction to this bit of news. Maci herself had shifted subtly in her seat, clearly taken aback by this.  
Elliot’s reaction was milder: he stared at her and blinked his eyes, which grew a bit wider than before. It was apparent at once that the letter had to have been hand-delivered by someone who knew her home address. While this had the potential to be a helpful revelation, there was no front desk in the main lobby—no one to see anyone delivering mail—and the lack of an envelope meant nothing but fingerprints, if even that, could be acquired.  
Things had just become markedly more interesting to him. Whoever was threatening Mlle. Perrault, they were close.  
“It sounds like it might be someone you know, then,” he spoke, “or at least someone who knows _you_. They described things you have in your apartment, I noticed, like your cat. Have you invited many people into your apartment before?”  
“I’ve lived in this apartment for years, and my . . . my ex brought a lot of people here when I was still a performer. This was _our_ apartment back then, though, so it wasn’t my place to refuse.”  
When mention of her past relationship came up, the visible discomfort was replaced by a subtle gloom that she must’ve felt Elliot recognized, as her eyes continued to revisit him despite her ineffective attempts to avert them.  
After a pause, he took care in toeing an idea: “Did you and him end your relationship on bad terms? Is it possible _he_ could be the one behind the letter?”  
“My ex isn’t a man; I should’ve specified, sorry. But, yes . . . it did end on bad terms, but I don’t think it’s possible that Elaine would’ve been the one to send the letter. I was more bitter over the breakup than she was. In fact . . . she was talking to someone else by the time it ended,” Jolene responded, with a bout of sourness to her words. With this, her gloominess dimmed into dejection.  
Upon hearing her ex’s name, however, Elliot perked up.  
“Elaine . . . _Bellerose_? The opera performer who was stalked back in . . . what was it, 2009?” He hoped he wasn’t being presumptuous, inwardly enacting the awkward scenario that would follow if he was.  
However, it seemed he had connected his dots correctly, as Jolene then replied,  
“Yeah . . . Apparently she was talking to the officer that was assigned to that case. Might’ve even been one of the reasons she left . . . Ah, s-sorry, you probably don’t wanna hear about all this, um . . . personal . . . stuff.”  
Perrault looked down to the floor, obviously embarrassed by her own remarks regarding Elaine. She seemed to open up around Elliot, but that timid nature of hers crept its way back again, like a voice deep in her head that sought to force her self-silence.  
“No, it’s fine,” the detective assured, almost on impulse. “It’s just a bit funny, how coincidental this is: _I_ was actually supposed to take Bellerose’s case, that’s how I know about it. The officer that took it on my behalf is a good friend of mine: Lieutenant Simon Callahan.”  
He decided not to mention how he’d attempted to have _this_ case pawned off on him as well. Then, clearing his throat, he tried to get back on track.  
“So, did you ever interact with any of the guests Bellerose brought over?”  
“Well . . . if you haven’t noticed, I’m not the most sociable person,” she answered, with a small, half-hearted exhalation of amusement and self-pity before she continued.  
“No, she talked to them on my behalf. She was helping me network and trying to promote my work. If it wasn’t to humor her, her friends really paid no mind to me. I was just ‘Elaine’s girlfriend’ to most of them.”  
Turning to Elliot once again, she attempted to clarify her opinion on their breakup before she looked back down once again: “I don’t blame your friend, you know. There were probably so many other reasons we broke up. I just . . . wanted you to know that.”  
“. . . Wait, what do you mean? Why would I think you’d blame him?” Elliot arched his brow again, this time in legitimate confusion and curiosity.  
“Sorry, it’s just that . . . he was the officer she was talking to, romantically, before we broke up.” Jolene seemed apologetic, as it was so long ago that she assumed she might’ve been misremembering something.  
“Don’t worry about it,” Elliot told her.  
He related to her deep-rooted social anxiety: if it wasn’t part of his job to interact with others, he’d be intensely anti-social and shy, too.  
Therefore, he was careful not to alienate her further with anything that could make her worry about coming across as socially awkward, something he’d always worried about doing when he was younger—hell, even when he was her age.  
He changed the subject: “Then, I take it you live alone now. Do you have any family you could stay with, to get away while we try to figure out who sent the letter?”  
“No. My mom and dad aren’t . . . in the picture anymore . . .”  
Bit by bit, it was becoming more and more apparent that Jolene had depended on Elaine as a support system, which meant that the breakup seemed all the worse for her. She did notice Elliot’s familiarity with her shyness, which she seemed to harbor deep appreciation for, as if he had a face that was familiar enough to her to give her comfort.  
“Is there another option that’s available for my situation?” she asked with reluctance, afraid that there wasn’t a way she could stay in her own apartment.  
“Well . . .” Though Mortensen did have an idea, he wasn’t sure how comfortable he was with it: leaving Maci to hold a stakeout here, in case the culprit came back to deliver another letter—or worse.  
But part of him argued that if someone came with violent intentions, they would _both_ be at risk—it wasn’t that he didn’t trust Maci to handle herself, but he’d almost lost her before.  
He needed advice. It would’ve been much simpler a situation for him if Simon had accompanied him instead . . .  
Looking reluctant, he glanced toward the door out, then at Maci, still sitting beside Perrault.  
“. . . Leblonne, I’m going to go out into the hall and call Bellamy to ask for her input. Stay here with Mademoiselle Perrault, okay?”  
Without waiting for her answer, he made long strides for the door, walking past Chestnut as it continued to stare at him from the dark bathroom.  
After Elliot closed the door behind himself on his way out, Perrault and Leblonne both sat in confusion. They then stayed like that, in awkward silence, for a few moments, before Jolene broke the tension with a wary sigh.  
“Do you . . . want anything? I realized I must seem like a bad host. Drinks or anything at all?”  
It sounded much more like an offer between friends or a normal guest than an interaction between an officer and a victim. Though, Maci accepted it to comfort her nonetheless. However, it made her wonder why someone as friendly and introverted as Jolene Perrault would be targeted in such a way as this.  
Out in the hallway, Elliot moved a bit closer to the stairwell as he pulled out his flip phone from one of his coat pockets and snapped it open. Sorted in alphabetical order, his first contact was Bellamy, so he took a breath before dialing her and moving the phone to his ear. Crossing his free arm over the crook of the other and tapping his foot against the black tile floor, he felt anxious as he waited through the rings.

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed what you read, please leave a Kudo! Even a guest Kudo helps us out greatly.


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